


Dragon King

by CyranodDeBergeracOG



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Politics, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Second Great War, Tags May Change, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2020-10-18 04:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20633003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyranodDeBergeracOG/pseuds/CyranodDeBergeracOG
Summary: Three Empires of Tamriel were forged by Dragon Blooded Emperors. With a fragile peace between the Stormcloaks and the Legion the Jarls gather in Dragonsreach for an attempt at a Moot. There is one man they had not considered however, the one who will become known as Dovahsejun -Dragon King! The Mede Dynasty has ended and it is time for a new ruler, a true Emperor, to claim the throne and unite the continent of Tamriel once again. Aided by dragons and the warriors of Skyrim the Last Dragonborn must fight to determine the fate of the 4th Era. Will Tamriel see another Golden Age? Will the Thalmor succeed in their nefarious plans to put reality itself at peril? Or will a third faction decide the fate of all Mundus? Let's find out! Mortals and immortals, heroes and villains once more it's time for all to step into the Arena!





	1. The Moot

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone I hope you enjoy this story. I write fanfiction to help myself relax in between the stresses of seminary life. This is kind of how I feel the only "logical" continuation to the end of Skyrim would go, including removing the false moral dilemma that is the whole Blades/Paarthurnax decision. Please leave your comments and let me know what you think or what you hope I do moving forward.

_"Why do you think your world has always been contested ground, the arena of powers and immortals? It is Tamriel, the Realm of Change, brother to Madness, sister to Deceit." -Mankar Camoran _

The Scrolls had foretold of black wings in the cold and Alduin's threat to the world and that the dark dragon's lies would one day be silenced by the hero that would arise for the salvation of all men and mer. What they did not account for, what we have not seen, is what Laat Dovahkiin-the Last Dragonborn- would do when the threat of the World Eater was removed from the world until the true time for the next _kalpa _to arise. 

As part of his campaign to defeat Alduin Laat Dovahkiin negotiated a ceasefire between the forces of the Legions of the Empire supporting Jarl Elisif the Fair of Solitude and Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Eastmarch. Understanding the dire need of the times, the two sides agreed to a temporary peace in exchange for swapping the Holds of Falkreath and the Rift. Taking advantage of this lull in Evgiir Unslaad - the Season Unending that is war, Jarl Balgruuf the Greater of Whiterun called for the Moot to be held in Dragonsreach to attempt to bring a final end to this war for the title of High King. 

Today is the 7th of First Seed, First Planting. A day where the seeds of the autumn harvest are sown. A festival of fresh beginnings, where old disputes are dropped, old enmities forgiven and new friendships forged. The city of Whiterun held its breath as the Jarls, their thanes and housecarls arrived and made their ways from the Plain District to the Cloud District. Today would either bring peace or the sword to all of Skyrim. It was the 203rd year of the 4th Era, the end of Old Empire and the rise of something new in the Arena that we call Tamriel. 

* * *

Irileth's hand never left her sword hilt as she eyed the hall of Dragonsreach from her position of vigil beside Balgruuf's throne. As each Jarl and their followers entered the hall they nodded respectfully to Jarl Balgruuf before taking a seat at a bench to one side of the hall or the other with the long tables and the central fire in between the separate factions. 

Ulfric arrived first accompanied by Galmar Stone-Fist. the stout Nord and the lithe Dunmer eyed each other up as fellow warriors and veterans of shared battlefields. Each knew the others style and were weighing in their minds who was my likely to stand or fall if their blades were to meet. Stormcloak and his lone guard took the right hand bench with the kitchen at their back. 

"Jarl Ulfric be welcome. I drink to your health and invite you to eat your fill."Balgruuf called down to his first guest lifting a tankard of ale and drinking from it. Ulfric responded by undoing his sword belt and placing it against the wall behind him. "I thank you for your hospitality Jarl Balgruuf and the shelter of your bench and fire." He answered and with that peace was made for a time within the hall on that hill on the plains. Every interaction between the Jarls was ritualistic and planned, from the moment they began to ascend the steps to Dragonsreach. Dengeir came next, having traveled the least distance his arrival soon after Ulfric was no surprise. His housecarl recently dead he examined every nook and cranny of the chamber himself before sitting beside Ulfric accepting Balgruuf's protection while his own eyes shot from one shadow to the next at every moment. 

Igmund of Markarth was the first of the Imperial aligned Jarls to arrive accompanied by Faleen, his Redguard housecarl. This in itself was a message to Balgruuf and Ulfric, the Jarl whose actions had begun this war was the first that the Imperials sent to the peace table, either as he was expendable or as a reminder of how the conflict had begun. Faleen placed her back to the wall separating the main hall from Farengar's chambers. Her eyes never left Galmar and Irileth recognized a reflection of herself in the vigilance she displayed. 

The next Jarls came quicker and in greater numbers from that moment. Idgrod Ravencrone of Hjaalmarch brought not just her housecarl Gorm, but also her daughter Idgrod the Younger. Skald Felgeif of the Pale came with his housecarl Jod, his servant Bullfrek and his mage Madena. Korir brought his housecarl and wife Thaena and their son Assur who was sent to play with Balgruuf's children on the Great Porch. Maven Black-Briar, the new Jarl of the Rift, came second to last accompanied by her brute guard Maul, her daughter Ingun,and her son Hemming. Irileth knew a snake when she saw one, and she had no doubt that Black-Briari's ambitions were too big for Skyrim alone to hold. 

Last came Jarl Elisif with the largest escort. To her left and right were her thanes, Bryling and Erikur, and to her back were their housecarls Melaran, Irmskar Ironhand, and Bolgeir Bearclaw. Behind them came her steward Falk Firebeard. Behind the delegation from Solitude came three observers that made Irileth tighten her grip on her sword hilt and loosen the blade in the scabbard. Dour General Tullius, quick Legate Rikke, and behind them Elenwen of the Thalmor. 

Jarl Elisif took her seat at the center of her side's table, directly across from Ulfric, if hate were dragonfire the central fire was a candle in the distance compared to the hate Elisif directed to the man who had killed her husband. That hate was nothing compared to the utter bane that Ulfric directed towards Elenwen as she took a position in one of the side alcoves while Tullius and Rikke sat down at one of the servants tables watching from the side. For a moment there was the silence before a storm. 

And then Ulfric stood up. 

"What is _she _doing here?! This is Skyrim's business, Nord business. I will accept the Legion's presence here, but I see no reason for the Thalmor to be present at the Moot. Balgruuf did you invite her here? Did you offer her the safety of your hall?" The Bear of Markath roared in his own strong voice looking from one Imperial Jarl to the next before settling his eyes on Balgruuf measuring his host and waiting for his response. 

Balgruuf's lips were a firm line as he looked at every person who had come to meet at his hall. Then he answered with a voice as hard as the roots of the mountains. " No, Ulfric I did not invite her. But she has come as a guest of either Jarl Elisif or the Legion. In either case she is under the protection of Emperor and I give her leave to witness what we do here." The haughty Altmer ambassador opened her mouth to speak, but Jarl Balgruuf continued. "But I do not give her leave to speak." Elenwen's jaw snapped shut in an instant and glowered at Balgruuf but did not speak. 

"Thank you for being clear, Jarl Balgruuf." Ulfric said returning to his seat on the bench. Then Dengeir spoke up. 

"What emperor is it that offers her protection? We all know Titus Mede was found dead aboard the Katariah, murdered by the Dark Brotherhood." 

"If I may answer that Jarl Balgruuf?" General Tullius asked, his voice respectful to his host. Receiving Balgruuf's nod to him as permission Tullius stood and directed his comments to the table of Stormcloaks. " Understand this, though the Empire lacks an Emperor at this moment in time, its Legions still do their duties. Including protecting ambassadors from other countries at all times. Let me make that clear for you Dengeir of Stuhn, at all times. Thank you, Jarl Balgruuf." Having made his point the General sat back down and allowed the conversation to move forward. 

"Now that that has been cleared up, Avenicci, bring in the ale and the venison. We will eat while we talk. I want to begin by thanking you all for coming this day, this First Planting, to attempt to grow something great and strong like the sapling of the Gildegreen that you all past on your way to this Moot. I understand and appreciate that we have all lost and sacrificed much in this conflict. Spouses, parents, children, friends and subjects. I do not ask you forsake these losses as we go forward in our discussion today. I ask you to remember them and beg you all to ask yourselves this question: would they not prefer we have peace than war? Peace instead of more suffering, more bloodshed. Consider this question for a moment please, as you eat and then consider which of our number can give us peace as High King. Too long has kinsman fought against kinsman, friend taken up arms against friend. This war in Skyrim must end! And it is our duty to our people to end it for them now, today, so that we can begin rebuilding for a better future." The Jarl's clanged their cups against the table in appreciation of his speech as they ate and thought about his words. Each of them had come to this place from different places in their lives, different experiences. Some had fought in the Great War, others had sent others to fight in their stead and had suffered for that decision. 

While they mused over the questions they ate and talked with each other. Maven and Erikur whispered about mutual business interests; Korir chatted loudly about his rebuilding efforts in Winterhold; Idgrod the Younger and Jarl Elisif discussed how the winter had impacted their peoples and what they hoped for the upcoming planting season. A tension was growing palpable in the hall as time moved on, each and every person knowing that someone would be the first to speak and then open the floodgates to the work that would need to come and the problems that would arise from that. In the end, it was Igmund who began the conversation. 

"I ask all of you to think on your father's, your mother's, and then look back to when this war began. We are all nearly thirty years older and wiser than we were back then. When I was a younger man, grieving and enraged by Madanoch and his Forsworn slaughtering my father when he came to try to make peace with them I did something rash and foolish that I have come to regret greatly." Turning to look at Ulfric I made you a promise I should not have, a promise I could not keep. We Nords were there first when Tiber Septim founded the Empire, who would we be if we abandoned that Empire in its greatest need. We may not be happy with the terms the Emperor agreed to to enter the war, and we all know we were not consulted on them, but what does it say for our honor that the moment the Empire does one thing we do not agree with we are ready to abandon them to their deaths. Ulfric, I am sorry for the promise I made you, and I am sorry to all of you for the suffering that promise has caused. I did what I did for that dream of peace, but no matter what decision we make here today, the Reach will not have peace so long as those damned Forsworn are still around. So when you tell me that we are to consider peace I say this: Ulfric, you are a man who thinks he is doing the right thing, but you are wrong, all you will do is bring more war to the rest of Skyrim. The Empire is the only one helping me keep the peace in the Reach and I will vote with them and with Elisif." No sooner had Igmund's ass hit the bench then Skald the Elder was rising to his feet. 

"Where is the honor in the peace Titus Mede gave us? We abandoned Talos, the very founder of the Empire! And then we allowed Thalmor Justiciars to hunt our people in our own lands torturing and killing with no regard for our customs and rights. You say that we should stay in the Empire because it is the Empire of Talos of Atmora? Tiber Septim united all of Tamriel, Hammerfell,High Rock, Skyrim, Morrowin, Black Marsh, Cyrodil, Elsweyr, Valenwood and the Summerset Isles.That was Tiber Septim's Empire! I say that that Empire died with Martin Septim! From the moment we abandoned Talos things have grown from bad to worse. Just look around you, you fools! Dragons returning! Vampire attacks! Emperors assassinated with impunity! Alduin himself returned! And where did the World-Eater attack first? Helgen where the Imperials were going to execute Ulfric! The true - " 

"You're being ridiculous!" Legate Rikke interjected. "We all know that Alduin attacked Helgen to attempt to kill the Dragonborn!" 

"And because the Dragonborn is favored by Talos he survived! Obviously! Now as I was saying. . ." Before Skald could determine what exactly he was saying Jarl Balgruuf spoke up. 

"Thank you Jarl Skald, but I believe we all know what you were saying. You're vote is for Jarl Ulfric. Please take your seat, I believe Jarl Dengeir has something to say." Balgruuf's voice hid his rebuke and derision well, instead acting as mediator between many inflamed passions. 

"Thank you Jarl Balgruuf," Dengeir began, his voice so similar to the Jarl who preceded him. "Jarl Skald is right about one thing for certain, Tiber Septim's Empire is long dead. When the Septim Dynasty ruled the Empire they knew Skyrim well, often serving as kings and queens of Solitude in fact." No one seemed to notice the shiver that went through Falk Firebeard's body. " Whoever the Elder Council names the new Emperor they will be a foreigner to us here, and they will not know how to rule us. My nephew Siddgeir is perfect proof of this. Imperial spies, using bribes and plots incite the nobles of my Hold to oust me from my position as Jarl and put my insipid nephew in power. A boy who emptied our coffers to buy himself expensive clothes and mead, who took up with criminals and other sorts who wished to despoil our beautiful Hold. That is what happens now when septims rule in the place of Septims. Ulfric may be a devil, but he's a devil I know and who I know actually cares about Skyrim. I may be old but I also know a Jarl's first duty is to his people. That is why I cast my lot for Ulfric." Having finished he took his seat and took a spoonful of vegetable soup. 

"Well said Jarl Dengeir. Who would speak next?" Jarl Balgruuf asked looking about the room. 

"I will speak some wisdom, for you youths to hear. Though I can see that it will most likely be wasted as always." Jarl Idgrod said rising slowly to her feet. 

"I have foreseen dark times coming to Skyrim for many years now. First I thought it was the Great War, and it then it passed. Then I thought it was this war, Sons of Snow fighting against each other and working woe. Then came Alduin and vampires preying upon my people. These things too have passed, but the dark times are still a-coming. Now is not the time for us to fight, but to cling together and stand alongside each other shield to shield, like good Nords should. I voted for Torygg when he was put before this Moot. As I did for Istlod, his father, and Erling his grandfather. Those men always had good sense and passion, and even better taste in women. Jarl Elisif may be young, but she has a caring heart and wishes to protect her people. Let us all stand together, not just Nords, but all races and so let the dark times come and break upon our walls."Having said what she wished she returned to her seat without another word. 

Korir stood next and spoke of the glory of Winterhold, how it once stood great among the Holds of Skyrim and pointing to the helm he wore that had once been worn by a perspective High King of Skyrim. He talked of magic, and his hatred of it and elves, and how the College of Winterhold caused the Great Collapse, and how the Thalmor had attacked Skyrim when some elf named Ancano caused some kind of disturbance in Winterhold some months back. When he was done talking he retook his seat and Maven Black-Briar stood to speak her piece. 

"I know that I am the newest Jarl, and some might call me inexperienced, but in my previous line of work I found several lessons that apply just as well then as now. The most important of these is this, gold is king. Let's truly examine our options for a moment and who is supporting it. The man whose 'city' is a cliff and who refuses to appreciate the one asset he has remaining to him, the paranoid old man who sees Imperial spies and assassins in every shadow whose Hold is little more than a graveyard, and a zealot who left his Hold defenseless to Daedra because he thinks the sun shines from Ulfric Stormcloaks ass. And as their chief, a man whose hatred for elves has left half his city a slum and driven him to a self-destructive and endless war and don't get me wrong Jarl Ulfric, your war has been great for my business, but the economic opportunities of the Empire are greater still. If you truly want to do what is good for your people, then vote with us for Jarl Elisif and put coin in their pockets and food on their tables." Maven dropped to her seat and Ulfric looked like he was resisting the urge to Shout her to pieces. 

Jarl Elisif stood then, her fists shaking beside her skirts. 

" A little more than a year ago i watched Ulfric Stormcloak Shout my beloved husband to pieces. Torygg looked up to you, Jarl Ulfric, and held many of the same beliefs as you. If you had talked to him, reasoned with him, you two could have come together to make a Skyrim we could all be proud to live in. But your ambitions got the better of you, you did not want to be the High King's friend and mentor, you wanted to be the High King yourself. Despite my beloved Torygg's respect for you, you did not give him the decency of a clean death fighting an honorable opponent. I am certain in Sovngarde they curse you at this very moment. I will _never _forgive you for taking him from me. Were I a swordwoman, and felt I could believe you honorable, I would challenge you today as you did him and we would settle this all that way. But I am not, and I cannot. Instead we must come to this Moot, where we stand evenly divided and our gracious host Jarl Balgruuf reclines neutral upon his throne. By coming here we all agreed that we would honor the results of the Moot and make peace. I would allow you to wear a title you murdered my husband for, or you would allow me to hold the title you lusted after so greatly. It seems that we will come to an impasse yet again, and all our time will have been wasted. I see another way though, there is one person that we all respect one that many of us call friend, and all of us have named Thane. I propose we summon him! Summon the Dragonborn who knows all of our strength's and weaknesses by heart, let him decide which of our number shall be the new High King." Her impassioned speech ended she looked upon the man who had killed her husband and waited for his response. 

Sitting there musing over her words, visibly impressed, Ulfric rose and began his speech with one word "Dovahkiin-" 

"_Fus!" _At Word from the strongest Voice in all of Nirn the doors of Dragonsreach slammed against the walls and shook on their hinges. Every housecarl drew their weapons and moved to defend their jarls and Tullius and Rikke stood and armed themselves as well. 

The housecarls came first, none with weapons drawn, but all came armed. Lydia and Iona, Jordis the Shield-Maiden and Argis the Bulwark, Gregor, Calder, Rayya and Valdemar. The took position at the bottom of the steps leading further into Dragonsreach their faces masks of determination to do their duty.

Next came the Blades garbed in their Akaviri armor with their katanas at their sides. Delphine and Esbern, Derkeethus, Aranea Ienith, and Kharjo. In the rear came the Companions, not just the members of the Circle, but their entire number. Walking in the center of this small army were a particularly pale woman of indeterminate age and a man whose very presence demanded the attention of those who knew who he was. 

Laat Dovahkiin wore the armor of ancient Nords, reforged and made splendorous by the fires of the Skyforge. Upon his head he wore two crowns, the first a band of dwemer metal set with pale blue stones of Aetherium the second made from the bones of ancient dragons long dead. The Jagged Crown of old. Upon his back was his final claim to greatness was Wuuthrad, the battleaxe of Ysgramor himself. As he advanced into the hall Elenwen stood and stepped forward her mouth open to begin to speak. 

He did not say a word, or lift his hand towards the hilt of that weapon made to slay mer, all that was necessary was for him to give her a look of pure derision, inviting her to make his day by continuing in her plans and she fell silent and slipped back into the shadows. 

Compelled by his aura the jarls stood their eyes jumping from his crowns, to his weapon, to his armor, to the amulet of Talos worn openly about his neck. None dared speak at first and the pale woman who accompanied him stepped forward and opened a scroll, sighed and read from it with less than due reverence. Her eyes seemed to glow gold as she spoke. 

"I am Serana of Clan Volkihar and I present to the Moot Laat Dovahikiin, Stormcrown, Dragon of the North, the Thane of Whiterun, Thane of Falkreath, Thane of Eastmarch, Thane of the Pale, Thane of the Rift, Thane of Winterhold, Thane of the Reach, Thane of Hjaalmarch, Thane of Haafinger, Archmage of the College of Winterhold, Harbinger of the Companions, Orc-Friend, member of House Telvanni, Qahnaarin, and Chief of the Rieklings of Thirk Hall." Stepping to the side Laat Dovahkiin stepped forward between the two tables and beside the fire in the center of the room. 

"Jarls of Skyrim, you all know me. I have done services for all of you in the past, and greatly helped your people. Some of you were even at my wedding." He paused to look at Jarl Balgruuf. "You know my titles, you know what I have done for Skyrim and all of Tamriel. I defeated Alduin, slew Lord Haakon, dueled Miraak on the Summit of Apocrypha, all there is to do in this province and on Solstheim I have done and more. The Emperor of Tamriel is dead and here you sit and debate which of you will be High King. You!" He turned and pointed to Jarl Ulfric. "Have been played for a fool by the Thalmor for too long!" He slams a dossier onto the table in front of the Jarl of Eastmarch. 

Turning and pointing to Elenwen he continued. "That woman lied to you and told you that what you said when you broke led to the fall of the Imperial City. She lied. And now that Thalmor have used all of you, a united Skyrim is the Thalmor's greatest fear. They have perpetuated this war between brothers to weaken us, for their second war against the Empire. Do not speak woman, you have poisoned our land enough. Leave now, go back to your embassy and hide. I will find you there when I wish to hear your forked tongue speak." Elenwen's face paled and she fled down the steps and past the Dragonborn. As she passed through the hosuecarls the Blades formed a line in front of her, Delphine in the center. The Breton's steely gaze fell upon the terrified Altmer. One with the confidence that the Gods were on her side, the other terrified to realize she might not be the god that she thought she was. 

"I'll be seeing you again." Delphine promised before patting the hilt of her blade and stepping aside, letting Elenwen flee. 

Once she was gone the Dragonborn continued. 

"Of the nine of you, only one of you has remembered their duty. I do not fault you for forgetting in your grief and loss. Name him your High King and then come with me, come with me south to Cyradill. Every Empire that has ever ruled Tamriel has been founded by those with the Dragon Blood who came before me. St. Alessia, Reman Cyrodiil, Tiber Septim. If I am the Last Dragonborn, then let us build a Last Empire for all of Tamriel. One that will last until the end of the age. Name Jarl Balgruuf High King and he will help me rebuild Skyrim. He is a man who knows Skyrim and cares for it, and you know I am as well. Let us build an Empire greater than any other before. Who is with me?" 

A great amount of shouting and tankard clanging filled the air, punctuated by many "Here here's!" and other cheers. When the shouting had died down Balgruuf stood up and embraced the Dragonborn. "Thank you my friend, together we will make our vision of peace a reality." One by one the jarls stepped forward and knelt to Balgruuf swearing their fealty to the new High King. When that was done a voice cut through the cheer to ask a piercing question. 

"And how do you plan to deal with the Thalmor?" General Tullius asked, always the strategist had already gleaned the greatest enemy to all of the Dragonborn's problems. The Dragonborn answered him with a smile and then answered by walking towards the gaping doors of Dragonsreach and saying one word. 

"_Paarthurnax!_" A hundred dragon roars shook the sky and General Tullius smiled. 


	2. The Battle of Helgen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, thank you for being patient with me this semester was a very busy one and I did not get a chance to really sit down and write, because I had so many other things I was paying to sit down and write ironically, I'm going to try to get a few chapters up during winter break and then we'll see how my lighter work load goes in the spring.  
I hope you enjoy this second chapter and please leave comments and let me know what you think.  
Merry Christmas!

_The graves are filled with many a mediocre swordsman. If you don't have the stomach for war, try a monk's work. But if you do travel the path of the warrior, learn the basics and keep your head firmly planted on your shoulders - or someone's bound to lob it off. - Eduardo Corvus, Killing- Before You're Killed _

A cool spring breeze whispered through the pines dropping slushy, grey snow to the ground with a thud. All of the snow was grey and slushy now, melted and lying in little piles of icy muck here and there around the village. Orgnar had paid the local drunk Embry to keep the streets free of snow for the winter and now Embry was spending his coin at the Sleeping Giant and slouching against the railing of the inn looking as if he were going to empty his stomach of its contents at any moment. Two miners walked by and called out to Embry as they went by pickaxes slung over their shoulders. Their were many new faces in Riverwood since Embershard Mine had been reopened. 

Riverwood was changing and even Frodnar could see it. 

A year ago Riverwood had been a sleepy little town with not much in it. A mill, an inn, a smithy, a shop and enough people to occupy all four. Now that the mine was open new houses were being built, which meant Frodnar's parents had needed to higher more men to produce the cut lumber needed to make those houses, which meant more houses needed to be made for them as well. That had all seemed like enough change for a life time for Riverwood at first, but more people seemed to be coming every day. Travelers coming to do business with the Dovahkiin at his home at Lakeview, aspiring blacksmiths who wished to learn at the forge where the Dovahkiin had taken his first lessons in Skyrim and could not afford access to the Skyforge, traders seeking to take advantage of the increased population not knowing that the original inhabitants of Riverwood had become fiercely loyal to the Riverwood Trader. A group of researchers had come from the College of Winterhold to excavate the ruins at Bleak Falls Barrow on orders of the Archmage. Frodnar didn't know who this Archmage was, but he was pretty sure he would bloody his nose if ever he saw him, just for all the trouble these changes in Riverwood were causing him. 

None of these new people were particularly fun to prank after all. 

The strangest new comers to the area had to be the group of four that Frodnar saw come into the Sleeping Giant Inn one night a few months back asking Orgnar for the room in the attic. The last time that Frodnar had ever seen a group so strange was when Dovahkiin came passing through Riverwood on the way to finish his house at Lakeview Manor and brought his whole household with him. 

A Nord, a Dunmer, an Imperial and a person in chitin armor that hid all his features, though Frodnar guessed from his voice that he was a Dunmer from Solstheim. Curious about these new strangers Frodnar had talked Dorthe into staying with him at the inn well past their curfews to listen in on their conversations. It had been a great game for Frodnar, acting like a scout in one of his uncle Ralof's stories, keeping an eye and an ear open for any trouble to his people before they could even see it. As Frodnar listened, while only half-paying attention to the board game he and Dorthe were playing at he learned much about the four strangers and what they about in Riverwood. The Nord was a warrior from Markarth named Vorstag, the Imperial a mage named Marcurio from Riften, the Dunmer a ranger from Whiterun called Jenassa and the elf in chitin was called Teldryn Sero. Sero seemed to be the one in charge of the four, and from what Frodnar could tell they were working for a man that they called "the Boss." Whatever work this "Boss" had hired themf or seemed to be something out of their usual realm of work. Jenassa even said that it wasn't "work for her" because she wouldn't have much opportunity "to get her blade wet." Sero had stopped that kind of talk very quickly and said that Riverwood Folly was "important to the Boss's plan and that and the coin should be enough for all of them." Before Frodnar could hear any more the door to the Inn opened and in walked his and Dorthe's fathers. Both looking quite angry. 

The pair had been forbidden from the Sleeping Giant Inn for two weeks for that, and Frodnar only knew the four adventurers were still around because he would look up at Riverwood Folly and see fires lit at night and occasionally Marcurio would come down from the mountain to buy supplies at the Riverwood Trader and talk to Camilla Valerius for hours. For some reason Sven was always nearby chopping wood loudly and angrily when he came to town. 

A few months had passed since that day and Frodnar had grown used to many of the changes that were happening to the growing village. He supposed change was just part of growing up. Dorthe was starting to change a lot too, growing taller and more woman-like. She spent more time at her father's forge and less time with him and Stump going on adventures around the town. Frodnar's parents still told him that it was too dangerous for him to start working at the mill so he was mostly free with his time. Which meant he was sitting on the bench outside of the Sleeping Giant Inn playing with Stump and with Embry leaning over the other railing when it happened. 

Frodnar would remember it for the rest of his life, and tell everyone about it when they came through the town and stopped at the Sleeping Giant Inn where Laat Dovahkiin had once stayed. He promised that to himself, _never again will you forget what you saw on the 9th of First Seed_, he promised and crossed his heart to bind it. 

First he saw the troops in blue marching down the road from Whiterun well before the had crossed the river at their little bridge. Frodnar recognized them immediately as Stormcloaks, heroes fighting for Skyrim and he jumped up onto the bench to get a better view of them. Marching at their head was a true Nord if Frodnar had ever seen one. Hjornskar Head-Smasher was a broad man dressed in bear-skins with his hammer made for head-smashing hanging behind his back. Frodnar quickly tried to count how many men were in front of him. Figuring that each rank had five men abreast, and the column looked to be about twenty-deep, meaning he was looking at about a hundred Stormcloaks making their way down the main road towards Riverwood. What was strange to Frodnar were the two men marching beside Hjornskar and the one marching behind him. Each carried a long pole with a flag flying from each. The two in the front were shorter, perhaps only ten feet long, the one behind was about double the size. The flag to the left of Hjornskar was the Stormcloaks' bear. The one to right of Hjornskar, in the position of higher honor, was the horse head of Whiterun, gold on white. The third flag, flying high above the troops, was one that Frodnar had never heard of before. It was a black banner with a red diamond in the middle, outlined in white. Resting in the center of the diamond was a black Imperial dragon and as the banner moved closer Frodnar could barely make out that there were words written in the white boundary with letters that Frodnar did not know. 

The street cleared as the Strormcloaks crossed the bridge and entered into the town. The garrison of guardsmen that the Jarl had sent to help protect them from dragon attacks stood aside and watched as a crowd began to gather around. 

"Where are you off to soldier?" Someone called out from the crowd. 

"To Helgen! To fight for Dovahsejun!" One of the Stormcloaks answered and the soldiers began to laugh and then start to sing a song that Frodnar had never heard before. 

"Dragonborn, Dragonborn,  
By his honor is sworn,  
To keep evil forever at bay!  
And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumph's shout,  
Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray!" 

Frodnar was tapping his foot along with the tune as the marchers sang on when Camilla Valerius pointed down towards the bridge and called out "Look! Imperial soldiers!" Frodnar had to lift himself up onto the railing and then climb onto the roof of the inn to get a good view but he was amazed to find that Camilla was telling the truth. There were Imperial legionnaires marching down the way behind three banners, two of them the same as the ones the Stormcloaks had marched down before, with the third being the flag of the Imperial Legion with a XIII beneath the dragon. Frodnar did his best to count them as they came by, and put his best guess at two-hundred and fifty. He did not know it, but the man marching at the front of this half of the Legion was Legate Quentin Cipius. 

The Legion marched on through the town and Frodnar was confused to find that they were being cheered as much as the Stormcloaks had been before them. They were also singing the same song as the Stormcloaks. which Frodnar found even stranger. Then he saw who was riding down the road behind the Legion. 

Shadowmere was as black as a moonless night, so dark that all of the light around her seemed to disappear within her coat. A proud horse and beautiful, a creature of darkness serving the light. Dovahkiin rode behind his men looking every inch the Emperor he claimed to be. There had always been something powerful in his bearing that lent others to respecting him, but wearing the Aetherial Crown and with Wuuthrad slung over his back, he looked like what any Nord would recognize as a king. He rode in strange company, a pale skinned woman who wore her hood high so that a shadow was cast over her face rode at his right side on a horse of pale white. To his left Frodnar recognized Delphine, the old owner of the Sleeping Giant Inn, wearing the armor of the Blades with one of their katana on her hip. Her eyes moving from place to place, never resting and vigilantly searching for any danger. When heer eyes fell on Frodnar on the roof her hand went to the hilt of her sword before recognition came across her face and she moved on with her search. There were others with Dovahkiin, three mroe Blades as well as a Legionairre and a Stormcloak soldier. 

It took Frodnar only a moment to recognize Hadvar, Dorthe's cousin, and Ralof, Frodnar's uncle. 

"Uncle Ralof!" Frodnar called out with a huge smile waving his hand in the air. At that same moment Embry seemed to recognize Dovahkiin and lifted his tankard to him saying, "My favorite drinking buddy!" Ralof smiled at Frodnar and waved at the boy and Dovahkiin smiled at the drunkard and reached into a pouch at his belt tossing him five Septims. 

"Have a drink on me Embry!" Dovahkiin called out as the rest of the town began to recognize two of their own riding with such an important person. Dovahkiin waved at those he knew and greeted the crowd as he moved through the town. Behind his party another hundred Stromcloaks marched as a rearguard, almost matching the number of Legionairres that marched in the center. Frodnar watched the army move oon through the town from his perch atop the inn for a good long while until the last rank of men vanished from sight in the woods and hills before the Guardian Stones. 

* * *

Egil Nine-Knives cursed as he looked out at the force that was gathering in the hills beneath Helgen. At first he had dismissed the reports as nothing to be concerned about. Stormcloaks had been moving through the same mountains and valleys as his bandit clan and had never so much as given one of his men a stubbed toe. Live and let live had been their policy and it had seemed to have worked out for everyone involved. When his scouts reported that there were a hundred Stormcloaks moving through the woods Egil had decided it was only a patrol probably moving down to the Stormcloak camp to the east, maybe preparing to break the tentative peace with a surprise attack on Fort Neugrad. 

Then the man in the high tower spied a large number of Imperial Legionnairres moving throught the woods after the Stormcloaks. They had the Stormcloaks out numbered two to one with a little more to spare and would certainly catch up to the Stormcloaks just below Helgen's walls.

That was a problem for Egil and his clan. Helgen had been a sweet spot for them for almost a year now. They had heard all kinds of rumors about what had caused the downfall of Helgen. Some said that Ulfric Stormcloak had routed half of the Legion when using the power of the Voice when they tried to execute him. Others said that it was the Dragonborn who ahd done it, after being confused for one of the rebels. The wildest story Egil had heard was that Alduin himself had come down from the Throat of the World and laid waste to the town. It did not matter to Egil which of the stories was true, or whether any of them were true for that matter. He had moved his people out the mountains and down into a nice, warm, and defensible base for the winter. They had had a fairly profitable year, picking off trade caravans and travellers coming from the north and east trying to get to the Pale Pass and out of Skyrim. Even with the damage that had been done when Helgen fell the stout walls and strong gates made Helgen almost unconquerable with his hundred bandits inside. Not that anyone was trying to conquer it, the Empire and the Stormcloaks had both turned a blind eye to his clan taking control of the settlement, but they sure would notice him if they fought a battle right beneath his walls! 

"What should we do boss?" Egil's second asked him as they looked down at the two forces moving closer and closer together from atop the walls. Egil's second was a veteran Marauder with more years in the clan than in any other life and he had a good head on his shoulders. He knew when a situation was becoming a little too dangerous for comfort. 

Egil considered the question for a moment, drawing his glass dagger and walking it up and down his fingers out of habit. Egil always did his best thinking with a blade in his hands. 

"Gather up the men, all of them and get them to their positions on the walls. Might be there's a way we can turn this situation for profit." Egil had said and his second had gone quickly to obey his order. It wasn't long after everyone was up and in position on the wall that the last of the scouts, the ones that had been farthest out, came straggling in. Egil had left about a half-dozen men up near Bleak Falls Barrow to keep a long eye out for any caravans coming down on the White River. He hadn't had time to send someone out to call them back and had not even considered them when making his plans. Now two of them came staggering to the gate opposite of the way he had expected them covered in blood, one of them had an arrow in her lung and was leaning on the other. 

"What in Oblivion happened to you!?" Egil yelled when he came across town to see them. The one who wasn't obviously dying answered. 

"We were attacked coming down the mountain to warn you." He said breathlessly as he lay his companion down on a fur pd to die comfortably. Egil was in no mood for slow reports and leapt forward grabbing the man by his collar and pressing him against the wall. 

"Attacked by who?! Warn us about what?! You better talk fast or you'll get where you're going before she's even left!" He threatened an Elven dagger appearing in his free hand with the tip pressed against the man's throat. 

" The Stormcloaks and the Imperials are working together and they're coming this way! I don't know who attacked us, but we had to jump down the mountain to escape them!" The man said desperately his eyes moving down to Egil's wrist and back up as he wiggled in Egil's grip. 

"Are you drunk boy!? What do you mean they were working together!?" Egil asked pressing the blade against the man's throat even closer, quickly losing patience with him. 

"We saw them marching through Riverwood together, Stormclaoks, then Legion, then Stormcloaks again. Pretty as can be. They had some general with them, rode on a black horse and had some strange guards with him in strange armor. Don't know who it was, couldn't get a good look before we were attacked. That's all I know, by the Eight! Please, let me go, boss!" Egil howled in frustration and let him go, with a new red smile for his trouble. Stormcloaks and Imperials working together, ha! That was ridiculous. But when Egil saw the last batch of Stormcloaks coming out of the woods and them making camp right next to the Legionairres Egil began to reconsider. 

"How many are there?" Egil asked his second as he mounted the walls just above the gate. 

"Best guess? five hundred boss, give or take two dozen." His second answered. Egil had never had that good of eyesight, one of the costs of spending a lifetime dodging spells before they could take off his head. He also wasn't the best with numbers, but he knew that even in the castle his men couldn't win a fight nearly five to one. Especially if the Legion had any battle mages hidden in their numbers. He kept a brave face though, his men would need to fight hard if any of them were going to be able to sneak out of the back. 

"Make sure all of the archers have enough arrows, and keep them all on this wall, don't worry about the back, they can't get around without having to go under that corner. Put our spell girls there and tell them to rain fire down on any bastards who attempt to slip by." Egil pointed to where the north wall and the west wall met to show his second where he meant exactly. His voice sounded a lot more confidant than he felt, which was a good thing because they would need all of the confidence they could get. His second hurried to fulfill his orders and Egil looked down the hill. There was a cloaked rider coming up on a white horse. Egil had no idea who she was. 

Once she was just beyond bow range Egil called out. "Nock your arrows lads, but wait for my single before we pincushion this goose. And mind the horse, I've been looking for one that fancy." A mischevious laugh spread down the line as the sound of fifty-some bowstrings drawing tight filled the air. They did not have the pleasure of watching that manyy arrows bury themselves in the rider's body, instead she came to a halt just outside of bowshot and sat there casually for a moment her hood moving from side to side as if taking measure of their defenses. Egil felt a chill run up his spine as her hidden eyes fell on him, and for a moment he thought he understood how the prey felt when it had caught the hunter's notice. Egil did not like that feeling, did not like it at all. Perhaps it was an effort to push that feeling back deep inside himself that made him call out. 

"You just going to sit there a look, my pretty or do you have something to say!?" He shouted without thinking and the hood snapped facing him again. That same chill ran through his body and the hooded girl smiled. Egil could not see it, but he swore she smiled. 

"I do have something to say, thank you. It's just been so long since I've been to Helgen I thought I would take a moment to see what you have done to the place. Nothing good it seems, have you considered renovating?" Egil's face went red and he had to bite his tongue to stop from rising to her taunt. He would not lose his composure in front of his men. That seemed to amuse the hooded figure even more.

"I come to give you a message from the Emperor." She said, barely raising her voice and still making herself heard clearly to every man, mer and beast and on the walls. Egil scowled at that, every oen knew that the Dark Brotherhood had killed the Emperor in Solitude's harbor months ago! 

"Titus Mede is dead!" one of the archers called out,. "Yeah, he died begging for his life to some Dark Brotherhood assassin!" Another called out. 

"Quiet!" Egil shouted growing impatient with his own men now as well as with this messenger taking her sweet time to deliver the message she came to deliver. 

"Titus Mede II is dead, that is true. But I come to give you a message from the real Emperor, _Dovahsejun _, who promises you all merciful justice if you lay down your arms and surrender. If you do so the Emperor will let you choose where you serve out your sentences. In Cidhna Mine or in the Legion. If you do not and we must take the town by storm you will not be so lucky. You have until first light to decide." With that last word she turned her horse quickly and began to ride back down the hill to where two distinct camps were being erected. 

As she went frantic whispers were spreading through the bowmen on the wall who had heard the words and down to the fighters below who had not. Egil recognized the urgency in his position and knew he needed to do something quickly before his men broke completely. Most of them were young and had never been in more than a scrap with a caravan guard. Only some of the older hands remembered fights with guard patrols or battles with other bandit clans over territory. None of them had ever seen pitched battle like they were about to see. With a scowl on his face Egil reached out and grabbed a bow that was leaning against the top of the wall and nocked and arrow drawing it back he shouted, "Listen here you stupid bint! Tell your emperor here's his answer, and he can bugger himself with it for all Egil Nine-Knives cares!" He let fly with the arrow knowing it would fall far short of the mark, but also knowing that it was the act itself that his men needed more than anything. Sure enough the arrow bounced off a rock ten feet short and skittered down the slope under the horse's hooves. 

The hooded messenger did not even flinch. 

* * *

Serana found Dovahkiin's tent pitched a stone's throw from the cave that he and Ralof had escaped through when Helgen had fallen on that fateful day a year ago. Deerkethus and Aranea Ienith stood vigil outside of the tent, which meant Kharjo was off napping in preparation for a night's watch. Serana titled her hood back from its deliberately frightening position and smiled at both of them. 

""May I go in?" She asked mischief playing in her eyes. Dovahkiin had become much more serious about protocal and decorum since deciding to embark on this campaign, but she had found it did him good to have her around to wash it away with her particular brand of humor. Better than that jester he kept around from time to time, Serana was certain that man was insane. 

"Of course, Lady Serana, the Emperor is with the commanders now." Aranea said returning her smile. Serana had spent three days with the Blades back in Whiterun trying to decide on what to call a group of Stormcloak officers and Imperial Legates. Generals hadn't fit because of General Tullius, and Legates did not fit for obvious reasons. Finally after trying a dozen titles, including some that had apparently become outdated since Serana was last out and about, they decided that commanders was simplest until Dovahkiin announced a new command structure and integrated the two forces. Which judging by the way they naturally camped apart would be a while from now. 

Serana slipped past them with a joking curtsy before slipping into the tent. 

Someone had brought a table from somewhere and placed a map of Skyrim on it. The various forts, settlements and hold capitals were marked with flags and someone had taken the time to build a small model of Helgen out of clay and sticks. Dovahkiin stood over the map with Hjornskar Head-Smasher, Legate Cipius and Delphine. At the sound of the tent flap closing Dovahiin looked up and met her gaze, something Serana always appreciated since she knew he could see the golden glow her eyes gave off. 

"Serana welcome back, all did not go well I take it?" He asked. 

Serana smiled a toothy grin, "Actually I think it went rather well. They've agreed to lay down their arms at first light and march themselves right into the jaws of Oblivion for you." Serana said dryly. The three advisers looked aghast at her sense of humor and seemed about to jump down her throat.

"Serana do you really think now is an approrpriate time for -" Legate Cipius began, but Dovahkiin lifted his hand to cut him off. 

"Thank you Serana, I needed that. He said earnestly with laughter in his eyes. Giving him that kind of joy was one of the few things that made life bearable. 

"You're welcome, Dovahkiin, if you want to know what really happened, I put the fear of the Gods into them, you should have seen them they were shaking in their boots! But their chief decided to shoot an arrow at me so that perked them up a little bit. I really don't think they're going to be smart enough to surrender before dawn. Sorry." She said adding the apology at the last moment. 

Dovahkiin sighed and turned back to the map. 

"Well, there goes the easy way, time to get to the hard way." Serana slid towards one of the darker corners of the tent and sat down on the ground, legs crossed with her hands resting on her knees, palms to the sky. and began to slowly slip into a meditative state. 

"My Emperor, why not simply call upon the dragons like you did at Dragonsreach and have them fall upon Helgen like Alduin did before?" Head-Smasher asked moving his hand over the model of Helgen flappng his thumb and little finger like wings. 

"That would be the simple solution, unfortunately we need the town intact, or at least not more ravaged. The Nine know that having a bandit clan occupy it for a year has done know favors. Instead we'll have to rely on a more complicated stratagem. We must assume that Egil Nine-Knives is either a degenerate coward or a head-strong fool, as most bandit chiefs turns out to be, since there's no way to be sure which one he is until battle is joined we must plan for both. Now I have sent runners down the valley and up to meet with Thorygg's men in the east and Legate Skulnar's men coming from Fort Neugrad, both will be remaining out of sight until the opportune moment. Skulnar will come in first, cutting of retreat to the south, which leaves them only with the east as an escape route, where Thorygg will be waiting to ambush them just as they move to leave. Any thoughts?" There were none so Dovahkiin continued. 

"Now as for our front. Sero has signaled that they have approximately fifty archers gathered on our side, plus ten mages guarding this corner to attempt to prevent us from flanking them. now this is what we will do - " 

* * *

Nine-Knives had set up a nice little bedroom in the second story of the abandoned keep. At first he had tried to get some of his men to work on repairs for the keep where cave ins had occurred, but after a month or two of making next to no progress Egil had resigned himself to living in one of the rooms farthest from the damage,. A bed, a desk, mead mixed with juniper berries, thanks to a lucky find beneath the old inn, and life was becoming comfortable. And now some damned self-proclaimed Emperor was forcing him out of the best place he had ever found to almost call home. It made Egil livid! He had almost killed three of his own men since that hooded-herald had left. He had overe heard them talking about their time spent in Cidhna Mine and how it was not too bad, considering the alternatives. If they didn't need every one of them to catch arrows while Egil escaped with his core men.. 

Needless to say Egil had been looking forward to retiring to his quarters and getting mindlessly drunk on mead but as he entered the room he found someone waiting for him. 

"He he he, so sharp, sharp as my wit, he he he." Sitting on the window sill was the strangest man that Egil had ever seen. A jester! In Skyrim! and he was dancing two steel daggers from hand to hand. These daggers were like nothing Nine-Knives had ever seen. Light, sharp, dangerous. The work of a master-smith if he had ever seen it. Egil would kill for such blades. His hand slid down his body towards the hilt of his glass dagger. 

"I don't know who you are or how you got in here, but in a few minutes it won't matter." Egil was an experienced knife fighter and had spent his youth in the pits sticking shivs into man and beast for haunches of horse meat. He was confident he could kill this madman in moments. 

"Oh too right, too right you are Egil Nine-Knives. For when the Listener says kill, Cicero listens, and the Listener told Cicero to kill you. Oh how the Night Mother will love Cicero for his obedience." Cicero jumped to his feet and did a little jig tossing the knives from one hand to the other as if he had no care in the world for Egil and his nine knives. 

The mention of the Night Mother would have normally chilled Egil's blood, but it was running hot from all of the aggrevations of the day, and all he desied was to sink his blade in some warm flesh and feel it grow cold. If it couldn't be this so-called Emperor or the hooded-herald then it would be this fool! 

"So you like to dance do you!? Well come dance with me!" Egil yelled and charged forward drawing his glass knife in one hand and an Elven dagger in the other. The dance began with a cut down with the glass dagger towards where Cicero was standing. Cicero slipped under his arm and behind thrusting forward with his right hand and sinking his blade into the bandit chief's exposed side. 

"It appears first blood is mine, oho oho!" Cicero said as Egil screamed in anger and turned wildly swings his blades with a powerful attack. Cicero bent back with careless ease bringing his off hand dagger up and catching the chief's right wrist with a practiced blow. Tendon and nerve. Vein and mscle. All were severed by Skyforge steel. The glass dagger dropped from fingers that could no longer feel. Egil gasped in horror and yelled again stabbing at Cicero's gut with the Elven dagger hoping to bring his whole weight into the blow. Cicero crossed his blades in front of him and caught Nine-Knive's wrist between them. With a snip and a twist his hand flew through the hair and landed hard onto the desk still holding the dagger in its clutches. 

Egil's eyes went wide with fear and his face turned pale as snow as the sensation of his blood spilling from his wrist and stump burned into his beingg. 

"Oh poor bandit chief, don't you want to dance with Cicero anymore?" Cicero asked as he thrust a Skyforge steel dagger through the inferior iron cuirass. "Dance with me! Dance with me! Dacne with me!" Cicero cried tears flowing down his cheeks as he pushed Egil back again and again until he was at the edge of the window. As Egil started to tumble back he reached out to try and catch himself and could find no purchase with his useless fingers and bloody stump. Then the last blow came in and a red line appeared across his throat. The last thing he herad before falling back from the window was the jingling of a jester's bells and the words. "Hail Sithis." Then he was falling through the air. 

The Void consumed him before he hit the ground. 

* * *

Dawn found Legate Cipius standing in formation with his men shields locked and preparing to march. When no sign of surrender came from Helgen Cipius gave the command. "Form Tortoise!" he commanded and the men moved iwth practiced ease locking their shields together in front and overhead to best block the arrows that they expected to be raining down upon them. 

As Cipius advanced he knew that Hjornskar would be half-way up the other hill having spent the night moving his hundred man vanguard up the steep mountain wall in order to come down on the other side. They had debated long and hard yesterday over which of them rightly deserved which position and which position was more dangerous. In the end they had decided that the lightly armored Stormcloaks were better fit for scaling the mountain and coming down on the lightly protected otherisde while the heavily armed Legionairres would survive the onslaught of arrows with few it no casaulties. The fact that there had been no sign of a single deserter from the bandits was concerning, If Cicero had failed the bandits' will to fight might be stronger than anticipated. 

Still they climbed the hill waiting for all Oblivion to break loose. 

Higher and higher they climbed, but no arrows fell and no spells filled the air.. Cipius was beginning to fear they were marching into a trap. 

When they reached the grounds just in front of the walls they found them empty. Not one archer or mage in sight. Now Cipius was certain they were walking into a trap, and perhaps it had already been sprung on Hjornskar. 

"Lockpicks, forward!" He ordered as they reached the walls, ranks divided and let the two most experienced lock breakers in the XIII Legion advance to the gates. A nervous energy filled the men as they waited for the gates to open wide. If this was a trap then the opportune moment for it to be sprung would be the moment the gates were opened. If there were any runes on the other side, or if those ten mages were waiting with magicka at the ready, the first men to die would be the men picking the locks and then the first few ranks of Cipius' men as well. Cipius gripped his shield tight and waited. 

"We're in!" One of the lockpicks yelled as the gates slid open easily. 

Then the men of the XIII Legion walked into Oblivion. 

The yard was filled with bandit corpses, corpses and blood. 

"Keep your wits about you men, this might be an illusion, advance back to back and watch your step." Cipius ordered and led the way through the butcher's yard. In the middle of the town, next to the ruined inn the Legionnaires met the Stormcloaks. They made a show of working together, checking all of the town and the buildings for any survivors, but there were none to be found. 

* * *

And so it happened, that on the 10th of Frost Fall in the 203rd year of the Fourth Era that _Dovahsejun_ won the first victory of his campaign to become Emperor of all Tamriel. Using cunning and a knowledge of his enemies' own hearts and minds that would serve him well throughout his campaign, perhaps bringing him more victories than dragons and the Voice did. The Battle of Helgen soon found its romanticized place in song as one of the few battles where one side suffered no casualties at all. That this was achieved by tricking the bandits to fight amongst themselves over whether to surrender, run or fight is a fact that is often left out of the songs and retellings. But this is no song or story to please the courts of the world, this is a true history, a true telling of the reign of _Dovahsejun, _Dragon King!


End file.
